Picturesque
by 1Past and Present1
Summary: Love is the inevitable downfall.


"Yeah, it's morbid, hon, but we need to talk about it."

"I don't want to."

"I know."

Shadow stirs the wine about in his glass, staring at a portrait on the wall.

"I'm leaving everything to you and Omega."

"Why not a charity? An orphanage?"

"Because you guys are my family and I'm exercising my right to be nepotistic when the time comes."

He isn't crying. Save for the churning of his glass of wine, he is very still, wearing one of his nondescript scowls. Like he's searching for something in the picture but he doesn't expect to find anything. As if he's searching for the sake of having the capacity. Like he doesn't begrudge having time to waste.

"Your heart."

"I'm fine."

Rouge moves stiffly to invite herself to another cleansing of ash falling into the glass tray, cigarette bobbing between her elegant fingers.

"We don't want your property."

"I want you to inherit it, anyway."

"This is why I kept you at bay for so long. But then…"

She briefly closes her eyes and regrets the jokes that she made, little insecurities she tried to render small with humour, which she can recall at her age.

* * *

"Shit, honey." Standing in the light of the sun, Rouge is stooped over a little to peer comically down at her reflection in the water, rippling, smirking back at her. "Do I really look this old, to other people?"

"Indeed," Shadow purrs calmly back, his shoulder brushing fondly with hers as she rises to her full height once more, "you truly are succumbing to wrinkles and grey hairs, I'm afraid."

She turns to smirk at him, to look at him, now. "But in a glamorous way, yeah?"

He gazes at their shared mirror and wonders when she became so comfortable discussing her own mortality with him, as if death – the face he will only come to know through destructive means or suicide – is a mere joke to laugh off with her best friend. He remains unchanging as she lingers with him, loving him and nurturing him for this moment in forever. "Like an actress." And so he cannot be offended. "The loyalists in the crowd will adore you more and more, as you fade into less and less."

"And the jealousy they'll feel, too."

"You have aged very well."

"Yes, but I've also got a very handsome boy toy under my roof."

"Oh? Then I must meet this plaything of yours."

"You're a delight." She links her arm with his for the sake of holding onto something, someone, tugging him playfully toward herself. "I'm a lucky cougar if there ever was one."

"I'm not sure I'd describe this arrangement as luck."

"Potato, potato."

Chuckling quietly, he raises his piercing eyes in a sudden way that would alarm the uninitiated, meeting her gemstones with fire that she recognises too well. "Shall we continue, or do you wish to go home?"

"Home's kinda dull, today. Let's walk a little further."

"As you wish."

"And we're getting something to eat on the way." She turns them around and strolls confidently with him on her arm, the mingling crowd of people out to enjoy the weather in familial droves parting to admit the bat and the hedgehog safe passage through the park, as if they are surrounded by an impenetrable, unapproachable bubble. "Something covered in chocolate, preferably."

"Of course."

Children stare unabashedly at the unusual, the strange.

The leering adults are not much subtler than that.

In some ways, it's as if the world really is a cramped, unaccepting place, even for one as charming as Rouge. Especially so, for one as impervious as Shadow.

"You become cantankerous when you haven't been fed," he eventually remarks, able to speak softly, as she always has an ear trained on his voice despite the mixed drone of the many other voices. She told him, once, when drunk, that she knows the particular beat of his heart. How it races when he is stressed, the pleasant lull when he is calm, contemplating a flutter whenever she touches him.

"You're wise to attend to my voracious appetite."

"Must you be so lewd in front of all these people?"

"Why worry? They're completely unimportant."

"We've saved their lives."

"All the more reason for them to accept me in all of my eccentric and perverted states of being."

The hedgehog, whilst acknowledging the changes, appreciates certain consistencies as well. Such as the way the bat tosses a wink of reward at a bereaved father of three excitable kids, who seems to draw some sort of masculine bravado from the flirtatious gesture which Shadow finds amusing, but also comforting. He shakes his head.

Rouge giggles to herself, still the same woman who rescued him from alienated impoverishment all those years ago. Only her jokes are a little more acidic, because that is what experience often does to people, and she's finally on the threshold of getting old, which gives her the excuse.

"I believe that woman with the painted claws was his wife."

"Yeah, and she looked about ready to scratch another bald spot on his head."

"You're rather mean."

"Mmm. And delightful."

"An acquired taste."

"You can't get enough."

"Quite." The hedgehog allows the bat to press her smile briefly against his cheek, her breaths hot on his skin, and contemplates how she won't be around, someday. And this is what is so tragic about his condition, the very thing she indirectly jokes about without causing him offence. "Rather, you're too much." He persists, which is tedious, but those he loves will someday stop and despite his power, he cannot prevent it.

"Nah."

"Even for me."

"Bullshit."

"I ask the gods for strength every day."

"You worship no one."

"Perhaps, but gods come in many forms. How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you."

"So you say. But I am a mysterious man."

"Babe, please."

"Aren't I?"

"You're fucking gorgeous and I could study you all day. I'd never lose out on something to learn."

"This is why you're unmarried, childless."

"Yes, you've taken my heart."

He is in no hurry and neither is she.


End file.
